


The City

by prince_00



Category: doesn't belong to one ig
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-22 06:57:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12475932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prince_00/pseuds/prince_00
Summary: My personal description of the city that never sleeps. The reoccurring nightmare that plagues me and my way of coping with loss.





	The City

The sounds of the taxi cabs and limousines beneath my feet make the cool air taste a little sweeter. The smell of french fries from old restaurants make the air feel like home. The night sky illuminates the plastic chair and table that I use to house my mug of tea. Although the wind that embraces me is chilly, I feel no cold. Instead I feel the welcoming hug of the city that never sleeps. I feel the breath of everyone below me, going out for a smoke with their mates from college. I hear the heartbeat of every man or woman who is staying in the hotel next to my flat. I can hear every plate clatter with cheerful ambience inside of every restaurant where countless memories have been made by people who are just trying to keep their heads up. This, my dear readers, is home. 

The city has been my mother for as long as I could remember. Despite the violence and the drug exchanges, I always managed to carry her throne and admire her hidden beauty. The night sky was a slight pink color, the palm trees in the distance highlighted by the beams of moonlight that peeked through the clouds. God, was she beautiful. 

There was nothing particularly interesting about this city, comparing her to others. There was the taxi system, the stoplights (that housed dozens of people clutching shopping bags) and there was always going to be the occasional car honking at the middle aged business man walking by. The man looked normal, a balding head that suggested that he was a father of young children. His sagging eyes looked tired and weak, again suggesting the idea of children being present. 

I watched from my balcony, looking down at the whole exchange. Everything was in slow motion for me, the man walking, the car honking, and the man falling. I saw the briefcase fall from his hands, the leather corner abruptly hitting the rough concrete. The concrete embraced the man’s skull, a sickening crack that could be heard all the way from my balcony. The stoplight turned red and chaos ensued soon after. Sirens added their monotone instruments to the grand symphony.

In the eye of the storm, the paramedics rushed to the man’s aid, the gurney trailing ever present behind them. Passerby’s watched as the orchestra played, every musician playing his part. Women held onto the hands of children, men kept their cigarettes dangling between their now unsmiling lips. Sirens played, creating a beautiful yet chaotic music similar to the jazz played at cocktail parties. 

Then, they were still. 

The man’s briefcase returned to his sweaty palm, the stranger behind the wheel resting his elbow through the open window. The mothers and children now glanced eagerly at store windows, debating on which coat would be best for grandmother. The men with their cigarettes kicked the dust off their boots and talked about the local baseball game, specifically who they thought had the lead. Red traffic lights turned to green ones, yellow ones, back to red ones, and the children on their bicycles passed each car without a second glance. The symphony had gone back to playing all the right notes and by the time my tea was gone, the honking had ceased entirely. 

 

*third person here* 

Jay slowly trudged his way back into the flat that smelled of incense. The place was colder than it was outside, the breeze departing as soon as he’d slid the door shut behind him. The hardwood floor underneath his bare feet felt foreign and he stood at the entrance for a while before taking a few steps in the direction of the bathroom. The cold tile welcomed him with a certain distaste as his hands remained plastered to the side of the sink. His neck craned up to look at his solemn reflection in the mirror. The damned mirror. 

The mirror that still remained a stranger to him, despite all of the tears and sighs that were reflected back at him. His own face had become a stranger, for god’s sake. He barely looked in the mirror anymore and when he did, it was like visiting with an old friend. The old friend that wa screwing your wife in the nearest room. 

“You okay?” the mirror spoke. Jay chuckled at the mirror. Of course he was okay. Why wouldn’t he be okay? The god-forsaken mirror had asked him if he was doing okay. The mirror had spoken to him and this in itself, my dear readers, should be enough to inform you that he isn’t okay. 

“Are you, Jay?” said his wife from behind him, her cold dead fingers wrapping around the crook of his neck. “Baby?” she cooed in his ear, whispering her hot breath on the sensitive spot behind his ear. With the gasp of lust came the shattering of a mirror and the man found himself in a cold sweat, the white bed sheets clinging to his sweaty skin. 

Everything seemed so fucking familiar. The sounds of the taxi cabs and limousines beneath his feet made the cool air taste a little sweeter. The smell of french fries from old restaurants made the air feel like home. The night sky illuminated the plastic chair and table that he used to house his mug of tea. Although the wind that embraced him is chilly, he felt no cold. Instead, he felt the welcoming hug of the city that never sleeps. This, my dear readers, is home.


End file.
